


Feel so far behind

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Bucky's ill while Steve's out of town.  Enter Nat to save the day.





	Feel so far behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Monochrome_chameleon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monochrome_chameleon/gifts).



> This was a prompt fill for Tumblr. Find me @Builder051. For once, it's exactly what it says on the tin. No hardcore angst this go-round.
> 
> We are in powers/no powers choose your own adventure.

“I’ll just be gone a couple days,” Steve had said as he threw socks and underwear into a duffle bag.  “And in Pittsburgh, so not too far away.” 

 

Bucky’d nodded and reassured Steve he’d be fine. 

 

“Sam’s going with me, and so is Clint.” Steve’d explained.  “But Nat’ll be here.  You can call her if you need anything.”

 

“Ok.  I’ll be ok by myself, though,” Bucky’d said.

 

Now, he’s lying spread-eagle on the living room floor trying to breathe through nauseous prickles that are inching up his neck and making sweat break through the stubble on his upper lip.  Almost immediately he starts to feel cold again, but the chill is welcome after the oppressive heat of the blankets strewn over the edge of the couch. 

 

Leave it to Bucky to catch some death-bearing virus the moment Steve leaves town.  He shakes his head, feeling his hair flop against the carpet.  Then he has to press his hand over his face to stop the reverberation in his sinuses.

 

Bucky glances up at the clock above the TV.  It’s 11:30 at night.  He should try to go to bed.  But he’s been on the couch, napping on and off for the last 5 or 6 hours while he waited for the headache and sniffle to either go away or get worse.  He’s exhausted, but not sleepy.  And with the fevered ache in his lower back, Bucky is actually slightly more comfortable on the floor’s hard surface than he was on the couch.  He doubts bed will feel much better.

 

Back around 4:00 in the afternoon when the body aches were first starting to appear, Bucky’d pulled a bottle of ibuprofen from the kitchen drawer only to find that he couldn’t get the safety cap off.  He’d tried holding it between the wall and his stump shoulder while he worked the lid with his right hand, but there’d been no success.  Squeezing it between his knees and twisting with his down-pressed palm had given the same result.  The whole thing would just spin and resolutely refuse to open. 

 

The smart thing to do would’ve been to call Nat during daylight hours and solicit her for some innocent help.  But he hadn’t been feeling that bad then.  Just a little aura of malaise, nothing worth bothering anyone with.  He’d just lie down and sleep it off.  But the nap had done the opposite of helping.  Now every inch of Bucky’s body throbs and he feels close to vomiting.  Painkillers probably won’t even help at this point. 

 

Bucky’s brain seems to bounce against the inside of his skull as he rolls onto his side and sits up. Orientation is slow to catch up, and the vertigo that’d been swiveling around the edges of his vision while lying down is now engulfing him in dizziness.  His stomach splashes with a threat of what’s to come, and he gets to his feet but stays hunched over as he makes for the bathroom. 

 

Bucky drops clumsily to his knees and lifts the toilet lid.  His mouth fills with coppery tasting spit, and he lets it run down his lip and into the slightly bleachy-smelling water.  A heave wracks his shoulders, but nothing comes up yet.  Bucky breathes against a quivering clod of mucous in his throat and waits for the next assault on his stomach.  He retches up a splash of something sour, then presses his sternum into the edge of the porcelain toilet as his spine arches in a dry heave. 

 

Bucky hasn’t eaten dinner, so there isn’t a lot to bring up.  It doesn’t keep his body from forcibly expelling what’s in it, though, and Bucky loses count of the retches that force his entire frame into sweaty shakiness and bring up almost nothing for the effort. 

 

Finally he gets a chance to pause and breathe.  Disorientation is coming on quickly, and Bucky feels unsteady on his knees.  He’s not sure if he’s about to contract forward again or fall backward into convulsions, but he’s positive his sense of equilibrium isn’t going to last. 

 

He ends up collapsing sideways into the wall.  Bucky paws at the toilet paper roll, but it does nothing to keep him upright.  Stars blink into his vision and he lets his ear rest on the smooth, hard surface.  He hears his phone ringing from the living room, and the fleeting wonder of who the fuck is calling him at nearly midnight flashes for a moment.  Then blur spreads through his head and Bucky can’t muster the energy to wonder at all.

 

He comes to, and panic floods Bucky’s veins as he hears the sound of a key scraping in the lock on the front door.  Steve’s out of town.  Sam’s out of town.  Who else has a key to the house?  Bucky uses the wall to haul himself to his feet, then launches for the bathroom door frame.  He’s still unsteady enough to fall, but instinct tells him to prepare to fight. 

 

Bucky makes it into the hallway as the front door swings open.  He should launch himself at the intruder, assume a fighting stance.  But the nausea’s back with a vengeance, and he’s doubled up to dry heave over the carpet when Nat steps through the door.

 

“Oh my god,” she says, rushing to his side.

 

“No,” Bucky, grunts.  His voice is shot.  “I’m ok.  Leave me…alone.”

 

“Yeah, I’m totally going to do that,” Nat says sarcastically, inserting her shoulder under Bucky’s stump and getting a slender arm around him.  “Do you want to get to the bathroom?”

 

Bucky breathes through the contraction.  His stomach’s in his chest, but he’s beyond empty.  “No, I’ve just been…I’m fine.”

 

He watches Nat turn her head down the hall to see the bathroom light blazing in the dark of the downstairs.  “Oh,” She says.  Then, “You’re not fine.  You’re about to pass out.”

 

She walks Bucky to the couch and practically throws him down on top of the nest of blankets, then heads off to retrieve the bathroom trash can and flush the toilet.

 

“Ok,” Nat says, perching on the edge of the coffee table and dropping the trash can between Bucky’s feet. “What’s going on?”

 

“I don’t know.  Just got sick, I guess,” Bucky mutters, passing his hand over his forehead and down across his eyes.  “What’re you doing here?”

 

“You didn’t answer when I called,” Nat says simply.

 

“Why’d you call?  It was like…midnight.”

 

“To remind you to go to bed,” Nat says with a dry laugh.  “Steve said you’d been staying up all night watching old movies lately.”

 

“Huh,” Bucky says.  Nice of Steve to care about him enough to set up a bedtime call.  But Bucky doesn’t need to be babysat.  Then he runs through the events of the past few hours and reluctantly concedes that maybe he does, though he’ll still never admit it.

 

“I called you four times,” Nat says. 

 

“I, uh, only heard the first one,” Bucky admits.  “I was…I couldn’t get up to answer it.”

 

“So you’ve already passed out once tonight.  Spectacular,” Nat sighs.  She reaches across to palm Bucky’s forehead.  “What kind of fever are you running there?”

 

“Fucking disgusting one,” Bucky mumbles.

 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Nat agrees, removing her hand.  “I’m gonna go pillage the supplies in the master bathroom.  I hope you guys hid all your sex toys.”

 

“We don’t…” Bucky loses the energy to retort. 

 

“Taking your word for it,” Nat says, standing up and heading for the stairs.  “And speaking of taking stuff, what meds have you had?”

 

“None.”

 

“God, I didn’t think you’d fried your brains that much.”

 

“I couldn’t get the bottle open,” Bucky murmurs, deciding he’d rather feel embarrassed than idiotic at the moment.

 

“Why didn’t you call me?” Nat says, a trace of soft sympathy invading her tone.

 

“Thought it was too late.  Didn’t know I’d get a midnight message.”

 

“Hey, there’s no chivalry around me, ok?” Nat says, hardening again.  “You don’t have to be nice because I’m a girl.  I mean, yeah, don’t call Laura at 11:00 on a school night when her husband’s out of town, that makes sense, but I was literally playing darts with the wall right before I came over here.  Nothing to interrupt.”

 

“Yeah.  Sure,” Bucky agrees weakly.  Sweat breaks out on his forehead, and the sick feeling in his abdomen is rising. 

 

“Trash is on the floor,” Nat reminds him, then she sprints up the stairs.

 

She’s back quickly, and Bucky glares at her over the old-fashioned thermometer she’s shoved into his mouth.  The presence of it under his tongue is making him want to gag.

 

“101.5,” Nat reports when Bucky’s finished cooking the glass rod.  “Definitely a fever.  But nothing dangerous.”  She offers a couple bottles of pills next.  A different container of ibuprofen, plus Excedrin and Nyquil. 

 

Bucky goes with the plain painkiller.

 

“Really?” Nat asks.  “Don’t wanna be knocked out?”

 

Last time he took Nyquil, Bucky’d been assaulted with the most bizarre nightmares of his existence.  He just shakes his head weakly. 

 

“Ok.”  Nat gives him a generous dose of the small orange tablets and a glass of ginger ale. 

 

Bucky stifles a sickly belch after downing the meds with a swallow of the carbonated beverage, but Nat pays it no mind.  She flips on the TV and gives Bucky the choice of Nat Geo or classic movies.

 

Halfway through __Creature from the Black Lagoon__ , Bucky starts to feel revolting again.  Sweet ginger ale and the chemical-tasting coating on the pills is so present in his throat he can almost smell it.  He decides he’d rather puke in a toilet than in the garbage can, so Bucky slowly rises to his feet. 

 

Nat doesn’t say anything, so Bucky turns to glance at her before he shuffles into the bathroom.  She’s curled like a cat on the seat of the La-Z-Boy, fast asleep.  Bucky does his best to lift the toilet lid and retch quietly.


End file.
